Labyrinth
by Ronja-R
Summary: Catching Fire AU. Katniss and Peeta play along with the Capitol's wishes and marry within a year after the 74th Hunger Games. The only thing they refuse to do is have children. At the 91st Hunger Games they find out that Snow can still punish them, even without children of their own. I'm still really bad at summaries.
1. Chapter 1

So here's something I'm just kind of throwing out there... An intro for a story idea that's been in my head for a while but that I haven't fully developed or outlined yet. It's the first HG story I've begun posting without having the ending outlined which means I can't promise I'll actually finish the story. At this point I don't know how I want it to end.

If you're still interested, read on and let me know what you think!

* * *

It's uncommonly cold for late May. 15 degrees centigrade and a cold wind blowing. The girls gathered in front of the justice building are freezing in their dresses, most of which are short-sleeved and/or knee length. The boys fare a little better since many of them are wearing shirts and full-length pants but the majority of them seem to be shivering too. I myself am dressed in weather appropriate clothing decided for me by Lasha, the stylist assigned to us District Twelve mentors seven years ago. That doesn't make me any more comfortable than the children standing there waiting to see which two among them will be sentenced to death today but at least it makes me less cold on the outside.

It's my seventeenth year as mentor. Sixteen previous times have I stood up here and thirty-two children have walked up and joined Haymitch, Peeta and me on the stage. None of them have won their games. I remember each and every one of their faces, each voice and each personality. I can tell you what score they got, how many gifts they received from sponsors and the exact moment when they died. It's all burned into my mind and on a regular basis they come to haunt me in my sleep, blaming their deaths on my inability to protect them.

The back of my hand brushes against the back of Peeta's. I can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring. I put it on his finger in a lavish, ostentatious ceremony sixteen years ago and in return he put a ring on my finger. We never wear the rings except for formal occasions. The marriage was never our own choice, though it was I who suggested it. We had as little say in the matter as all those children standing there waiting for the reaping to begin. And yet we were the lucky ones. Both Peeta and I were considered attractive, _desirable_, and had a large number of rich Capitol citizens lusting after us. But star-crossed lovers are a matched set and President Snow had no way of selling our bodies the way he does with so many _desirable_ victors without ruining the saga of Katniss and Peeta, the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve who got their happy ending. He still took from us the right to choose our own partner and to create our own futures but I know we got off much easier than most.

I can't really complain. Peeta and I have grown together, become a true team. He's my best friend and I care about him so much more than he will ever understand. Together with him I have been able to make life bearable and together with him I have found ways to avoid some of the horrors Snow has had in mind by way of means to control us.

Most importantly, together with Peeta I have figured out a way to be able to stand here today and not have a child of my own out there in the crowds. Sixteen years of marriage and no children as a result. It's not because we never sleep together. The Capitol has ways of making sure that we do. Peeta and I have found other ways of protecting ourselves from pregnancy. They're not one hundred percent safe and we both know there's always the risk of conception but we've been able to guard ourselves as best as we can. So far it's worked.

Today there are 312 girls and 292 boys whose parents were not so lucky. Two families are about to lose a child and I strongly suspect that those parents will grow to hate Peeta, Haymitch and me. They always do. Most of them are able to hide it but with some it is written plainly in their faces when they look at us. And why shouldn't they feel that way? We live while their children died. We get to enjoy the benefits of being victors, which to those not in the know seems like a life full of money, food and fancy parties in the Capitol. We were the only ones who could help their children in the arena and we weren't able to help them enough. The fact that each year every mentor is guaranteed to lose at least one tribute doesn't seem to make a difference. Grief rarely follows logic.

Emalda Mills, the woman who took over Effie Trinket's job ten years ago, steps up to the microphone and begins the festivities. Even though she's been the District Twelve escort for a decade and I've spent a lot more time with her than with Effie Trinket I feel like I don't know her half as well as I ever did Effie. Emalda started out being in awe of her glorious position in life and seemed to feel she was doing her family proud by being a part of the Hunger Games. It took six years and then the shine was definitely off the apple. Nowadays she is a bitter woman who avoids the tributes at all costs. Once it became real to her that the children she was responsible for were individuals and she got to know them she wasn't able to deal with watching them die. I know it's been eating away at her and that she hates her part in all of it but there's not much she can do about it. Nobody _quits_ the Hunger Games. If you do you might find yourself another victim of Snow and his regime. Emalda is quite the actress and always manages to seem just the right amount of upbeat and excited whenever a camera is on her face but in private it's a different matter. I think she and I could have bonded, or at least that it would have helped her immensely to get to talk about it all with me or one of my co-mentors but there is always somebody listening and she can't take that chance. Three years ago she turned to drinking and now she's Haymitch's drinking buddy when we're in the Capitol. That doesn't do much to help the tributes.

My face remains emotionless as the girl tribute is drawn. Sally Masters, a Seam girl who looks about fourteen. Tears are falling down her face as she is ushered to the stage. When she shakes hands with us mentors I see in her eyes that she views us as her only shot at survival. The look I give her in return is cold and hard. I don't want her to connect any form of hope with me. I will do everything in my power to help her but ultimately it is up to her. God only knows what the arena will be like, what the gamemakers will come up with to spice up the show and what kind of children will be reaped in other districts.

Sally is led to stand next to Emalda who holds a one minute interview with her that amounts to nothing of interest. The girl is so shocked and the very notion of being able to get a good interview response out of someone in a situation like this is absurd to me. It's almost a relief when Emalda walks over to the boys' reaping bowl and sticks her hand inside. Soon the worst part of the reaping will be over. Once the boy tribute has been called everybody else can relax and I always try my hardest to think of all the families who can celebrate tonight rather than the families who will be mourning.

Emalda's fingers find a slip of paper and she lifts it up, opening the seal and studying it for a second before reading the name in a loud, clear voice.

"Thomas Mellark."

Thomas Mellark. The oldest son of Peeta's youngest brother.

"No" I think. "Not him."

* * *

My basic plan for this story is to have every other chapter being set in "present day" and every other chapter going back in time starting around the time of the wedding, detailing the things that have happend in-between the 74th and 91st Games. Ideally those chapters would eventually catch up to the first chapter.  
I've got about half a dozen bits of chapters sitting on my computer though no real outline, meaning updates might be rather infrequent.  
Feedback is of course much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter is set before the Quarter Quell, on the eve of Katniss' and Peeta's wedding. As I said on the previous page chapters will alternate between being set in "present day" and being set earlier in the timeline. Hopefully it won't be too confusing.

* * *

I don't have the first idea what to say or do when Peeta and I walk inside the bedroom of the honeymoon suite. Most of all I would like to lock myself in the bathroom and cry and not come out for at least a month. At least there are no cameras in the room. Haymitch made sure of it, pulling some strings he somehow had with Plutarch Heavensbee, the man in charge of production for our wedding, to ensure that we get at least some measure of privacy tonight. It's going to be a difficult night as it is, without adding cameras and an excited audience to the mix.

Things have been moving very fast lately and it feels like everything is still spinning. Despite the excitement over the engagement and the voting on which dress I would get married in the plan wasn't for us to get married quite so soon. Neither one of us is nineteen, the legal age of marriage in Panem, and so the idea was to drag the whole planning process out until it would all culminate in a big summer wedding next year. Then things changed with the announcement of the Quarter Quell and we had to speed the process up. President Snow personally granted us a dispensation to be wed so young. My mother made a valiant attempt at postponing, or even preventing, the wedding by stressing how young we both are and how it's madness for two people our age to get married when the love hasn't been tested over time. Nobody cared about her objections and I didn't expect them to but I did appreciate that she tried.

I look over at Peeta and I see the mask he's been wearing all day has finally come off. All day long he has been playing the part of the ecstatic groom, smiling and laughing and saying over and over how happy he is and how he can't believe that this is real and that he loves me so much. The last part may be true to some degree, the middle part is true but not in the way people think and the first part is as far from the truth as it can get. He's not happy. He despises this as much as I do. I didn't understand why at first but Haymitch made me see things through Peeta's eyes. He's essentially getting what he wanted the most but it will never be more than a façade. Forever stuck having the person he loves merely pretending to love him back and being fully aware of it. It would have been easier for Peeta if we had just gone our separate ways and he could have nursed his broken heart and gotten over me. Instead I will always be there, right by his side but not feeling the way he feels. In a way I think Peeta's fate is the cruellest of all the victors'.

"Well..." I say, harking my throat. I look at the bed with its gaudy red satin sheets and heart-shaped pillows. "We should just... You know..."

"Get to it?" says Peeta in a hollow voice.

I reach out my hand and find his, giving it a light squeeze. As much as what's expected of us scares me I don't want to add any further rocks to his burden. All day long I've been dropping my façade of happiness whenever we've been out of public sight and I could see how it made things worse for him. It's not fair of me to do that so I force myself to disregard my discomfort as much as possible.

"Let's just take it one step at a time" I say. "Let's just go brush our teeth. That's not so overwhelming."

He lets go of my hand and walks towards the oak door on the other end of the room. It's the only door so it must lead to the bathroom. I take another look at the bed and try to fight the discomfort I'm feeling. I've slept with Peeta in beds before. Several times, in fact. It shouldn't be such a big deal to do so tonight as well, only those other times were all perfectly chaste. Peeta never tried to touch me in ways I hadn't invited him to and he never acted as anything other than a friend. The fact is I like sharing my bed with him. I grew up sharing a bed with my sister and the presence of another human being in bed with me is comforting. Having him there to help ward off the nightmares means a lot. I've taken the opportunity to share my bed with him while we've been in the Capitol because I feel so much better when he's there. We even spent last night together, me wrapped in his embrace, trying to draw strength from one another before the wedding we were both dreading.

Tonight is going to be different, though. Tonight he is going to kiss me in other places than just my mouth. Tonight he is going to touch me where nobody has touched me before. Tonight he is going to…

I close my eyes hard and try not to think about it. I don't feel ready to have sex. I'm not comfortable with the idea of another person being that intimate with me. I know Peeta will be gentle and careful and all of that but it doesn't make much of a difference. I'm not ready to have sex with _anybody_.

Is Peeta looking forward to it? There must be some part of him that wants this, even though he would have wanted it to happen because I chose to do it with him. He's a seventeen year-old boy who will be getting to have sex with the girl he's been in love with for a long time. I would never call myself an expert on boys but it seems to be pretty well established that guys Peeta's age are very interested in sex and will eagerly engage in the activity whenever opportunity arises. Will he be eager? Will he know what to do? Has he done this before with other girls? I find myself hoping that he hasn't. It seems more bearable if we're both beginners at this it's not something he's already shared with other girls. For some reason just the thought of him doing things like that with somebody else rubs me the wrong way.

Will he enjoy it? Will I live up to expectation? A blush creeps across my face when I think about it. I don't have the first idea what I'm supposed to do tonight. It can't be as easy as just lying there. The guy can't be expected to do all the work. I've overheard enough man talk to know that women can be good or bad in bed which means I'm expected to perform as well. But perform how exactly? What if I'm not good? And on the flip side, what if I _am_ good? I've seen Peeta cry, I've seen him sick and hurt to the point of being near-death, I've seen him happy, I've seen him angry and I've seen him frightened. I've never seen him experiencing _pleasure_. It seems so… intimate. Am I ready to see, feel and hear him in such an intimate moment? I'm not so sure that I am.

Last but not least there's the worry about what sex can lead to. The whole purpose of sex from a biological standpoint. I can't even count how many people have come up to us today and talked about how romantic it would be if we had a honeymoon baby, whatever that means. Half of Panem seems to be circling their calendars for nine months from now, hoping or expecting for me to be delivering a baby at that time. No doubt Plutarch Heavensbee would be called in to produce the televised birth. I cannot deal with that. I will have to find some way of preventing that. Tonight all I can do is pray fervently that a pair of first-timers won't be able to make a baby. My cycle is unpredictable at best so I have no way of knowing if I am especially fertile right now or if we're relatively safe. We'll just have to wait and see what happens, which is unbearable in the midst of everything else.

The bathroom door opens and Peeta comes back to the bedroom. I tear my eyes from the bed and realize I've been standing here for a while. I begin to walk towards the bathroom to get myself ready. Peeta doesn't look at me, sitting down on the bed to remove his shoes. I can't tell what he's thinking or feeling other than that he's uncomfortable too. I almost wish he wasn't. I would feel better if he was calm and okay.

I take my time in the bathroom, carefully washing the makeup off my face and spending ten minutes undoing the elaborate bun my hair is up in. When my teeth have been brushed I reach behind me to unzip my dress and I realize I can't reach the zipper on my own. I'm going to have to ask Peeta to help me. Well that should at least bring about some form of natural progression of events. I wonder if he will move my hair to the side to reach the zipper and if he will lean in and kiss my neck. He's allowed to now. We're legally married. Panem law dictates that a husband can demand sex from his wife, and vice versa. Removing the legal possibility of rape within marriage brings more possibilities for conception and furthering our numbers. He can touch me wherever he wants to, whenever he wants to. In public he will be more or less required to, to uphold the charade. I wonder how often he will go for it when it's just him and me.

I walk back out to the bedroom to find that Peeta has removed the bedspread and snuffed out the candles that were lit all over the room, making the room smell faintly of smoke. Only two candles are left and he bends over to blow them out as well.

"No, don't!" I say. He looks up at me, surprised. "They'll wonder how come the candles didn't get to burn down."

"We snuffed them out before we went to bed" answers Peeta. "We didn't want to have to get out of bed after to blow them out."

The way he casually says it makes a chill run down my spine. I swallow and let him finish with the candles. Then I turn my back to him.

"Unzip me?"

He walks over and stops right behind me. His hand reaches up and moves my hair to the side. Another shiver runs down my spine, more pleasant this time. His hand grazes my skin lightly and it's not entirely unpleasant either. Then he finds the zipper and pulls it down. Once it's all the way down he takes a step back and lets me shimmy out of the gown on my own.

"That's a nice dress" says Peeta, an odd tone in his voice. "Cinna's very talented."

"He is" I say hoarsely, feeling awkward as I'm stepping out of the dress and standing here with only a slip on.

Peeta doesn't say anything else. From the corner of my eye I can see him moving around the room as he removes his clothes, keeping only the boxers on. He normally sleeps in boxer briefs and a t-shirt but tonight he won't be sleeping in anything at all. Both of us seem to find it all a bit awkward and he keeps his underwear on and I'm still in my slip as we get under the covers.

I don't know how I expected this all to happen but this was not quite what I had assumed. We're just lying there, side by side, not even touching. My hands are on the comforter, playing awkwardly with a seam that runs through the red satin. Peeta reaches over and turns off the lamp on his nightstand and the room falls into darkness. I can hear him shifting in the bed and I feel myself stiffen as I wait to feel his touch underneath the covers. This is silly. I'm used to feeling his body next to mine beneath the comforter. Why should this feel so awkward?

I keep waiting but his touch doesn't come. My eyes are beginning to get accustomed to the darkness and I turn my head towards him, finding him on his back staring at the ceiling with an expression I can't read.

"So…" I say, eager to get started. The anticipation is killing me and I would rather just have it over with. Losing my virginity is something I never thought would happen and from what I hear it can be unpleasant even in the best of circumstances. I want it to be done so I can go to sleep and try to forget that we're now nothing but a pair of breeders for President Snow.

"So" says Peeta.

"Shouldn't we just… get on with it?"

His head turns and he looks at me. I was expecting nervousness, love, shyness, excitement, trepidation, arousal or any combination thereof. Instead he looks irritated.

"Nothing's going to happen" he says in a mildly annoyed tone. "You can relax. I'm not going to touch you."

Surprisingly the feeling that comes over me is not relief. Instead I feel perplexed and a little bit rejected and I lift myself up on an elbow to frown at him.

"I don't understand" I say. "We're married now. We're supposed to be… you know…"

"We're not going to" says Peeta with determination. "They can force us into marriage but they are not going to make me rape you."

I don't know what to say. It is the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth right now. After a moment of blinking and trying to find something to say, anything at all, I manage to form a reply.

"You… wouldn't be raping me."

"Of course I would be" he snorts. "What, you _want_ me? Are you horny right now? If there were no government, no pressure, no outside forces, would you be wanting to have sex with me tonight?"

"No. But…" It didn't occur to me how difficult this would be for him, that he could see things in that light. I try to picture how it would feel. Feeling like you were expected to force yourself on a person you care deeply about, against their wishes. I don't want him to feel like that but in a way he's right. I don't want to have sex tonight. It's just that it's not Peeta I feel is forcing himself on me. It's Snow and his whole regime. Peeta is just another victim, same as me. "But we have to" I manage to say.

"Why?" questions Peeta. "Says who? What are they going to do, give you an exam tomorrow to check and see that your virginity is lost? You can't physically tell that anyway. The only thing that matters to them is that other people think we're screwing like bunnies tonight."

"Maybe that's enough for right now" I say tentatively, trying not to feel weird about the words and phrases he's using. It's unlike him to be so… crude. "It won't be forever. You know we're expected to…" I trail off, unable to mention the unmentionable. I know that Peeta doesn't want us to have children anymore than I do because he knows full well that our kids would end up in the arena.

"Do you _want_ to have sex, Katniss?" Peeta asks again, the faintest hint of hopefulness in his voice.

"No." I lay back down again, staring at the ceiling instead of at my husband. The fact that the word _husband_ describes his relationship to me now is something I don't know if I'll ever grow accustomed to. "I don't feel ready. I mean I've never even… done any of that kind of stuff. Just kissing. I'm not prepared for going further than that but I don't think that will matter to President Snow."

"Nevertheless" says Peeta and I feel him shifting on the bed. "They can force me to kill but they can't force me to rape. I don't think I could even… physically perform right now. So you can relax and go to sleep."

My cheeks feel like they're burning when he hints at physically performing. I've never given much thought to that aspect of him before, though I've woken up a few mornings feeling his hardness pressing against me. He's always been asleep so I never put a sexual connotation to it. Now suddenly it's different.

I turn my head again to look at him and to my surprise he's lying with his back to me. Rejection suddenly courses through my veins, irrational as it may be. I was dreading sex tonight but oddly enough finding out that Peeta refuses to do it and maybe even _can't_ do it tonight and now has his back turned to me makes me ridiculously annoyed. What, now we can't sleep in each other's arms anymore? That's absurd. Why does he think he might not be able to perform? Is there something wrong with my body? Is his love for me so noble and chaste and too _pure_ for physical stuff?

Of course I know that's not the case. Deep down I understand how difficult this must be for him and that the idea of forcing himself on me is probably what's keeping him from getting aroused. It's the back turned to me that hurts more than anything else. Well, two can play at that game. With a huff I roll over on my side so that my back is turned to him. In doing so I realize that the comforter isn't nearly as big as you would expect in a bed like this. Apparently even the damn bedclothes are designed to keep us physically close. As I wrap the comforter around myself I pull it away from Peeta. He grabs it and gives it a tug to cover himself. He doesn't pull it back very far, I'm still able to cover myself, but all the frustration and anxiety and desolation I've been feeling over the past year is threatening to boil over and I give the comforter a forceful tug that no doubt leaves him with very little of it.

I hear him sigh and brace myself, expecting a childish tug-o-war for the comforter. When nothing has happened in about a minute I shift a little so I can look over my shoulder and see what is going on. Peeta is lying there, two feet away from me, only half of him covered by the comforter. He seems to have decided not to play and to let me win this round even though it's fairly chilly in the room and he's only wearing boxers and for a second I'm even angrier at him for being such a martyr.

Then I start to feel bad and I roll over on my other side again so that I'm facing him. I sit up a little and move the comforter so that it covers him as well as me. Then I lay back down again, a little bit closer to him now but still with space between us. I close my eyes and try my hardest not to cry and to just go to sleep.

It's harder than I thought to drift off to sleep tonight. Peeta's back is still turned to me and he's very obviously upset, though I don't think it's fair that he's taking it out on me. Our forced marriage is not off to a good start and for the first time I start to wonder what the rest of our lives will really be about. I thought I was at least going into this with a friend and ally but maybe this is going to end up making us dislike one another and harvest only bitterness between us. Maybe this is another strategy by Snow. Taking Peeta away from me by chaining him to me.

Even I have to give that credit for being really clever.

* * *

I struggled a bit with this chapter, and with several other "flashback" chapters that I've done work on, because I really don't want it to be too similar to TGS. Let me know if you feel I'm starting to slip into that territory and I'll try my best to steer it back out again.  
Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

I'm shivering almost as much as the girls down there beneath the stage, suddenly feeling as cold as if I were naked. My mouth is completely dry and it's like I've had the wind knocked out of me, similar to how I felt that day seventeen years ago when Effie Trinket called Prim's name at the reaping. Only this time there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Not him. Not Tommy. Ryean's oldest boy, fifteen years of age, just a child. It dawns on me in this insane moment how naive we have been. We've been getting too cocky lately and presumably need to be put in our place. We thought we had protected ourselves by not having children but of course Snow could find a way to get to us anyway. I've long stopped believing in _odds_ playing any part when the child of a victor gets reaped. The chances of that happening as often as it does is just too miniscule. Tommy's name being called today cannot be a coincidence. Peeta and I have failed to give Snow a star-crossed lovers' love child so he chose the next best thing.

I can't look at Peeta. I can't look out at the crowds either for fear that my eyes might land on my in-laws. It's been less than two seconds since Emalda read the name and already I am playing my cards with skills acquired over seventeen years of participating in the Games in some form. My face reads completely calm and composed, absolutely no show of the shock and devastation I feel. I will not give them that satisfaction.

I manage fairly well in the first moments. The shock probably helps as I feel almost numb as I watch Tommy walk towards the stage, peacekeepers right behind him. I get an eerie sense of déjà vu. He takes after his mother Maggie more than he does his father which means he doesn't look like the spitting image of his uncle seventeen years ago but it's still a Mellark boy, a strong and stocky boy with ashen curls and blue eyes who walks towards the stage, shock and desolation written on his face. I see him climb the stairs, see him greeted by Emalda and then I get a good look at his face as he moves slowly over to us, his mentors. He is ghostly pale, panic stricken. Haymitch only gives him a nod and a hark, Peeta puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes it and then the boy is standing in front of me.

The look in his eyes hurts but it's not enough to make me break my composure. Then he speaks and when I hear the frightened, pleading tone in his voice I'm unable to keep my indifferent mask on.

"Aunt Niss..."

Him and his siblings and cousins have called me Niss since they were little and unable to pronounce my full name. The oldest of them took to calling me Niss and the others never thought of me having a different name until they got older. Tommy started calling me Katniss a few years ago and hearing him revert back to his old name for me makes it impossible to escape how young and vulnerable and frightened he is. It makes it impossible to ignore what we now stand to lose.

I resist the urge to hug him, knowing we need to give off a stronger impression in front of the cameras. Praying that my voice will hold I put a hand on the back of his neck and give him what I hope is an encouraging look.

"It will be okay" I tell him in a low voice, meant for his ears only. "You're strong. There's hope."

Then he's being ushered to the front of the stage where he's forced to shake Sally's hand as the ceremony continues. I force myself to look straight ahead. If there were no cameras and no people around I would turn to Peeta but I can't under the circumstances. I can't even share a quick glance with him to gather strength, nor can I take his hand in mine and find the reassurance the small gesture always brings. Him and I both stand with solemn faces and our hands clasped in front of us, backs straight, acting like this reaping is no different than any other. We won't give Snow or the audience the satisfaction of revealing our true emotions. It wouldn't help Tommy anyway if we did.

When Emalda finally wraps everything up we follow her and the two scared children inside the Justice Building. The second we hear the doors slam behind us I grab Peeta's arm and turn my head to look at him. He looks as pale as Tommy did outside. Knowing him as well as I do after more than a decade and a half of marriage I can see he's on the verge of tears but he manages to hold it back. He knows he needs to be strong now. Strong for his nephew and his brother and the rest of the extended family. For the second time his parents and his brothers will have to come back here to say goodbye to a beloved boy, knowing that his chance of survival is practically non-existent. The last time he came home, in spite of everything, but the odds are not in favour of a repeat performance.

* * *

As mentors we are not allowed to see the tributes until they board the train. Not even mentors whose own children are reaped get to see them while they're still at the Justice Building. That rule has never seemed more arbitrary and stupid to me than it does right now. Peeta and I will be able to see Tommy soon but I don't want to have to wait until he's on board the train to see how he's doing. If it were my own child I would be livid over not getting to comfort him or her in this moment.

We're still standing out in the hallway when a side door opens and nearly the entire Mellark clan enters together with Tommy's maternal grandparents and aunt. Peeta's mother, Ryean and his wife and their two younger children, Scotti and his wife. I realize Scotti's four children are not here but that's just as well. They are ages fourteen, eleven, nine and eight so the oldest, a girl named Claire, is probably with her friends congratulating each other on not getting reaped. Not that she will be in the mood to celebrate tonight.

"Peeta!" exclaims Maggie when she sees us. "Katniss!"

There are tears falling down her face as she throws her arms around me. I pat her back awkwardly and mumble something vaguely soothing, not sure how to comfort her in this moment. Peeta gives his brother a quick hug and a pat on the shoulder blade but he seems even more uncomfortable than I am right now. Ryean looks grim, more angry than anything else. I don't know what to say to him either.

"Maggie" I say, pulling back from the embrace and giving my sister-in-law a firm look. "Get a hold of yourself. Tommy is in there waiting to see you and he needs to see that you're strong. Don't let him see you cry, okay?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Mellark?" barks a peacekeeper named Thaddeus, making us all jump. "Right this way."

He ushers the parents down a corridor to a room I've never been inside, the room they keep the male tributes in. Tommy's two younger siblings follow behind them, both looking shocked, staring down at the floor and not speaking a word. I follow them with my eyes until Peeta's voice brings me back to where I am.

"Come" he says. "Let's not stand here and wait. There's a room where the mentors can wait if we don't want to go straight to the train."

Nobody says anything but we all follow him to the room where Peeta, Haymitch and I sometimes sit together to gather strength and courage before going to meet our tributes on the train. It's a large room, normally used as an office for the head peacekeeper, and it has a large couch and two armchairs on which Peeta's family sit down.

Nobody says anything at first. Peeta stands by the writing desk, gripping it with his hands and leaning some of his weight back against it. His face is still pale and he looks bewildered. I want to go up and wrap my arms around him, hold him close and do whatever I can to ease is pain. I want him to ease mine in return. I just don't feel comfortable doing that in front of my in-laws. I almost wish Peeta hadn't brought them in here. I wish we were alone, just him and me and possibly Haymitch. I need Peeta to hold me right now, as much as he needs me to hold him. That boy is precious to me too even if he's not my relative by blood.

"You'd better get him back alive, Peeta" Scotti finally says. His voice is low and angry.

"You know I can't promise you that" says Peeta in a hoarse whisper.

"That is our _nephew_!" barks Scotti.

"Peeta and Katniss want him back alive as much as you do" says Tommy's maternal grandfather in a remarkably calm tone. "They'll do whatever they can."

"We don't know who he will be up against" Peeta points out. He shifts a little, leaning against the desk with his arms now folded over his chest. "A lot depends on the competition. We'll do whatever we can but..."

He looks at me, desperation written in his eyes. I know he's thinking what I'm thinking. Mentoring your relative is every victor's nightmare. I should probably be grateful that Prim hasn't been able to get pregnant but it really doesn't make much of a difference. Ryean's and Scotti's children are my nieces and nephews too, just the same as any child of Prim's would have been. I've known them since they were born. I've watched them grow and been there for milestone moments. I love them, just as I would have loved a child of Prim's. I don't want to see them get hurt.

Nobody seems to know what to say after that. We sit there in silence, just waiting for time to pass, dreading the moment when the peacekeepers will open the door and fetch Peeta and me to go to the train. Peeta or I should be saying something encouraging or comforting but neither one of us can come up with anything to say. We know so well the horrors that await Tommy and we know that we are as good as powerless to help him.

After half an hour the door opens and we all look up. Ryean and his family walk in, looking like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. For the past fourteen years there has been a system in place where anyone who wants to say goodbye to a tribute has to sign up to do so and they allot how much time each person or group gets to spend in that desolate room. Ryean, Maggie and their children got half an hour since they are the closest family. Maggie's parents and sister get fifteen minutes and the rest of the Mellarks get fifteen as well. Too little time for too many people to come say goodbye. I'm not an advocate for letting large groups of people see the reaped child because I've found it gets too overwhelming for the poor girl or boy. Cousins, aunts and the like should take a step back and just let the closest family and friends be there.

On the other hand I find a form of beauty in the thought of how many people come to say goodbye to some of the children who are reaped. A testament to how many people care, that the life about to be lost is worth something.

Ryean and Maggie sit down on the couch, both looking like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. Their youngest, Fanny, climbs up on her mother's lap despite being ten years old and too grown to do so. Maggie lets her be but barely seems aware that she's there. Most likely they've just spent time with their son for the last time. For a few minutes nobody says anything but then Ryean looks up and glares at Peeta, looking very much like their mother when he makes that face.

"You're going to have to get him back" he says coldly. "This is my son we're talking about. And you're his mentor."

"It's not that easy Ryean" I say quietly.

"You _have_ to get him back" repeats Ryean, his voice now louder. "You can, I _know_ you can. You got out of there yourself."

"Ryean we're going to do everything we can and I wish I could promise you that you'll have your boy back home safely a month from now but I just can't make that promise" says Peeta with exasperation. "I don't want to see him die in the arena any more than you do but nothing is for certain."

"That's not _good enough_" barks Ryean. He used to be more soft-spoken but over the past few years his tone has grown harsher. Right now there's none of the softness there. "I will not watch my son get killed, do you hear me?"

"Tommy is in great hands" I break in. I can't make promises either but I see no harm in giving them a little bit of reassurance. "Peeta and me and Haymitch. We know how to work the system, how to play the game behind the scenes. It always comes down to the tribute in the end but Tommy's a Mellark and your brother proved to Panem seventeen years ago that they are made from tough material." I try to sound calm and reassuring. "We'll do everything in our power, Ryean."

Maggie breaks down crying and Tommy's siblings start snivelling as well. I look over at Peeta and again fight the urge to walk up to him and wrap my arms around him.

"Why is this happening?" sobs Maggie, burying her face in Fanny's blonde curls. Ryean begins to rub his hand down her back but he doesn't have a very comforting look on his face. "There's already been a tribute in this family. Why is this happening to us?"

"The odds just aren't in our favour" says my mother-in-law in a bitterly cold tone of voice. She's standing by the window, looking out at the street, seeming detached from what's going on.

"There's no use questioning it" says Peeta in an uncomfortable tone. His eyes are focused on the trashcan by the side of the writing desk, anything to not have to look at his family. "Prim got reaped when she only had one slip in the reaping ball. Others have over fifty slips their final year and they don't get picked. There's no sense in it. None at all."

Ryean lifts his head and gives Peeta a look just as Peeta turns his face towards his brother. Something passes by the brothers in that look, something I can feel but I most certainly can't interpret. Peeta breaks away almost instantly, leaving his spot at the desk and sticking his hands in his back pockets as he walks over to a bookshelf, staring at the books without seeing them.

"Maybe we should try and think positive here" says Allie, Scotti's wife. She's a calm, level-headed woman who often rubs me the wrong way because she never seems to question anything and just lets other people lead her along but she also possesses a calm that prevents her from getting too worked up about things. Right now that calm might be exactly what we all need.

"What the hell is positive about this?" snorts Ryean.

"At least Tommy has his aunt and uncle with him" says Allie. "That must be a comfort to you. He won't be alone in the Capitol."

"What good will that do him once he's in the arena?" questions Ryean, glaring at Peeta's back.

"At least he will have mentors who are really fighting for him."

Nobody says anything else for a while after that. Several people in the room are crying. There's a lot of tension in the air and I wish the hour could be up already. I want to retreat to the train and lock myself in mine and Peeta's compartment and hide from the ugly truth for as long as I can, curled up in Peeta's embrace. But when this hour does end I won't be getting any such luxuries. The moment we've boarded the train it is up to Peeta and I to take care of Tommy. I envy Allie and Scotti. They get to say their goodbyes and then go home and grieve. Peeta and I must carry Tommy through this upcoming week and on our shoulders lies the burden of making sure he's as prepared for the Games as possible. It's a horrible responsibility to have, though if you ask the Capitol it's a great honour.

I look at my husband, standing a few yards away from me, still staring at the backs of the books. Can we do this, him and me? Can we mentor Tommy successfully? And if we can't, what then? What do we do if we have to return back home and face all the people in this room and Tommy's not with us?

Slowly I walk over to the writing desk and take a seat on the leather chair. The ticking of the clock is almost drowned out by the sobs from the people in the room but I know time will fly by fast now. In seven days the Games will begin and Tommy Mellark might be dead. We've lost fifteen tributes in the cornucopia bloodbath. That's almost half the children we've mentored.

What does that say about our odds?

* * *

Sorry about the short chapters. They'll get longer, I promise =)  
Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

"Do try to _smile_, Katniss" sighs Effie dramatically. "You're departing for your honeymoon. This is the happiest time of your life."

She says the last sentence in such an upbeat tone that you'd think she actually meant it. It still doesn't make me smile. Not yet. Once we're out in public I will play my part as best I can but there's no reason to do so just yet.

"I don't even know what a honeymoon _is_" I say sullenly.

"It's where newlyweds go on a month-long holiday together" chirps Effie. "Getting some time away together, celebrating their new marriage…" She pinches my chin with a smile. "Enjoying the marital bliss, if you get my drift… Wouldn't it be just _lovely_ to be able to announce the impending birth of your first lovechild four weeks from now?"

In the corner of my eye I can see Peeta turning his face away, his jaw clenched. My face feels flush suddenly and I hate myself for reacting that way. I don't understand Effie Trinket. Does she realize that this marriage is a fraud? Does she honestly believe in the star-crossed lovers? Or does she think that marrying one another made us magically find true love?

"Now, I know you're both tired, not having gotten much sleep last night…" continues Effie, fussing with the collar of my coat.

Well she's right about that. I barely got any sleep at all, though not for the reason people would expect. I almost can't stop myself from snapping at her that there was no physical act to consummate the marriage but I hold my tongue. Peeta probably won't appreciate that I make it known to others that we aren't having sex yet, even though I would have let him sleep with me if he had wanted to. He might be determined to never take that step with me but I have a feeling Snow's determination is stronger than Peeta's.

"When you walk to the train put on your happy faces" says Effie cheerfully. "Look tired, but happy. That is absolutely perfect!"

"How long is this trip going to be?" asks Peeta.

"A month, dear. Aren't you listening?"

"A month?" He looks rather sceptical. "They're sending us away to do nothing at all for a full month? Why not just let us go back home?"

"You won't be doing nothing at all" smiles our escort. "You and Katniss will be having a lovely time."

"Sure… How many cameras will be on us?"

Effie averts her eyes and I can see that Peeta is getting annoyed. I'm not too happy either right now.

"I thought you said it was a private, romantic trip" I say.

"There won't be cameras in your _bedroom_" says Effie. "Haymitch had to pull some strings and throw a… giant fit… But there will be no cameras in the bedroom. Having a few cameras on you while you're outdoors is not so bad."

I look over at Peeta, feeling completely horrified. He's glaring at Effie, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

"Why in the world would they _want_ to put cameras in our _bedroom_?"

Effie doesn't answer his question. She puts on a great big smile, walks behind us and ushers us closer to the doors while reminding us to smile and be as happy as only newlyweds can be. Happy is the last thing either one of us is right now. I'm mortified by the thought of Snow and his goons having wanted to film us in bed together. I couldn't live with the idea of other people watching Peeta and I have sex and I don't dare to think of what would happen if they found out we _weren't_ having sex on our honeymoon.

"Right. Now." Effie claps her hands. "Happy smiles!"

It must be pure reflex or something because a smile appears on my face and I take Peeta's hand as the doors open. The next thing I know we're being ushered through a crowd of well-wishers, handed bouquets of flowers, being blown air-kisses. People are waving and yelling for us and everyone seems so excited. It's one of the most bizarre experiences yet. What empty lives these people must lead, to get so excited about seeing off a pair of young newlyweds as they embark on what is bound to be an excruciatingly boring trip. Several people reach out their hand to me and at first I think they want to shake my hand but it turns out they're actually interested in groping the wedding ring on my left ring finger. After the first four people have done so I refuse to reach out my hand again, feeling like they are invading my personal space too much when they finger the jewellery like it's a talisman. It's a relief when I feel Peeta's hand at the small of my back, ushering me towards the train. Once we are on board there's a slight ringing in my ears as the commotion is blocked out and there is only silence.

Peeta and I share a look. Neither one of us really knows what we're supposed to do now. He's the first one to move, walking away down a corridor without asking me to join him. I don't know where he's headed or if he even knows that himself. Maybe he just wants to be apart from me for a bit. We won't get much time away from each other this following month. Or really for the following lifetime.

I walk slowly down the same corridor, watching the city flash by as the train picks up speed. We're headed for District 4 for the first leg of the honeymoon and then we'll be in District 7. Apparently the beach is the perfect romantic setting and the woods of Seven offer privacy and recluse. That is of course one big joke as there will be cameras on us as soon as we leave the cottage that's being arranged for us but I guess we can bypass that by staying indoors for the most part. Yet I can't imagine being cooped up with Peeta inside a small cottage for what might be two weeks or more. I need my space and I think he needs his as well.

We don't see each other until it's dinner time. It's the longest we've been apart since we left District 12. A lavish table arrangement is waiting for us in the dining cart and with a rather large touch of disappointment I note that we're probably not going to be served any large portions of food. The table is so small that our knees might actually touch underneath the table and since the food has to compete for space with three vases of roses and a two candles in tall silver candlesticks there's not room for more than a small serving.

Since there are servants in the room Peeta puts on a smile and takes my hand in his. I manage a smile in return but I can't help but voice my immediate concerns.

"Where is the food going to go?"

"We'll find out, I guess."

We walk up to the table and he pulls out a chair for me to sit. When he takes his own seat opposite me our knees do in fact touch. There are four waiters in the room and they're all flocking around us which makes me nervous because we're going to have to try and carry out a believable conversation and I don't have the first idea what kind of things newlyweds like to talk about. Maybe I can just giggle a lot and bat my eyes and let Peeta do the talking.

After sparkling water has been poured for us and a tiny plate with the smallest slice of bread, garnished with tomato and basil, has been set in front of each of us Peeta turns to the head waiter.

"If you don't mind, Katniss and I would like to have some privacy." He gives me a suggestive smile. "We have… special things to talk about."

I blush and look away, which is probably a good response when I think about it, and the waiter nods his head.

"Yes of course."

After a minute or two all four of them have left, announcing that they will return in fifteen minutes with the main course, leaving Peeta and me to ourselves.

"This is not going to be a stilted month at all" comments Peeta in a tone that brings a small smile to my face.

"I thought the Capitol was all about lavishness and serving so much food you need to puke once or twice to gobble everything down" I reply, taking a sip from my glass of water.

"They didn't even give us any fine booze" notes Peeta. "At the wedding it was all champagne, all the time. Now we get water?"

"_Sparkling_ water, dear."

He chuckles and I smile. At least for a moment it feels like normal between us. Then I look down at my piece of bread and the smile is gone.

"This thing wouldn't have fed me when I was two" I complain.

"Maybe it's a thirty-course meal?" suggests Peeta. He picks up the silver cutlery and makes a point to elegantly cut a small slice of his bread in the same way Effie Trinket would have. "Another Capitol tradition, perhaps? Kick of the honeymonth by having one course for each day you'll be gone."

"Honey_moon_" I correct him.

"Married for a day and already you're a nag" jokes Peeta awkwardly and rolls his eyes as he puts the bread in his mouth. "Mmm… You can almost taste something."

I chuckle and grab my own slice of bread with my fingers and stick half of it in my mouth at once. It only takes a minute for us to have finished eating it and then we look around the room impatiently. My stomach growls and Peeta looks at the large mahogany clock on the wall.

"Just thirteen minutes till the next course, then."

"By the time they've served one full meal we'll have already digested half of it" I sigh.

* * *

We end up having a rather nice dinner, all things considered. Getting to be alone together without having to pretend and without having any pressure to do what married couples normally do we can both relax a little. They serve us meat and a salad for dinner and it tastes really good and there's enough food to make us full. They're still only serving us sparkling water and I don't understand why until they bring about desert. A plate of crackers and grapes is set out in-between us and then they set a plate with three kinds of delicious looking cheeses in front of Peeta. Nothing in front of me. The waiter moves to leave the room and I begin to realize that the cheese is for Peeta alone.

"Hey!" I call out. "Excuse me. How come I don't get any cheese?"

"It wouldn't be good for the baby, madam."

I don't know what offends me more – being denied food on account of a baby they seem to be presuming I'm carrying after only night of marriage, or being called _madam_ at the age of seventeen.

"But I'm not pregnant!" I object.

"Don't know that for sure, madam."

He bows and leaves. I turn to Peeta, feeling absolutely furious and expecting him to feel the same way. He's leaned back in his chair looking sad, almost miserable, eyes fixated on a spot on the floor.

"Can you believe that?" I exclaim. When he doesn't answer I frown deeper. "Peeta!"

He looks up at me.

"This is what it's going to be like all the time. Every single time we eat something courtesy of the Capitol. The whole damn world crossing their fingers, studying your waistline."

"What? This is just Snow messing with us. It's got to be. There's no way I _could_ be pregnant after only one night anyway."

"One night can be more than enough to conceive a child" replies Peeta and I would blush at that if I wasn't so mad.

"According to my mother the baby isn't necessarily _conceived_ the same day as you have sex. Because the… you know, can just… I mean it doesn't always…" I make impatient gestures with my hands, trying to get my point across but clearly only confusing Peeta who looks at me like I'm in the middle of an insane mime show. Before the wedding my mother gave me a brief explanation to how to track my cycle which included informing me that semen can live for days inside a woman's body and conception can take place days after intercourse. It was one of the most awkward conversations of my life, even though I got that the point was that just tracking my cycle isn't a reliable method of birth control. I'm too embarrassed to say the actual words to Peeta so I keep trying to make him understand on his own. "The way guys work… The way girls work… You know what I'm trying to say!"

"What was in your water?" asks Peeta, clearly not having a clue what I'm talking about.

"Just forget it" I snarl. "It doesn't even matter."

"You brought it up."

I reach across the table and grab the plate of cheese. Peeta doesn't object, folding his hands on his lap and avoiding to look at me. The previous comfortable mood is gone and all I can think about, probably all both of us can think about, is what is expected of us. Becoming parents. Bearing children. Giving Snow sacrificial lambs for slaughter in the Hunger Games in a little bit more than a decade.

My children. My children with Peeta. I glance up at him while I stuff cheese into my mouth. I can't stop a sudden rush of curiosity. Having children is the last thing that I want but what would a baby by Peeta look like? A tiny little thing with curly ashen hair and big blue eyes? Having a child of mine that's fathered by him die in the arena would be the ultimate revenge from Snow, wouldn't it? Yes I saved Peeta but instead I have to watch a younger version of him, one I gave birth to, be killed in some horrible fashion while the whole country looks on.

"I used to want children" says Peeta suddenly. "Of course I've always known they could be reaped and all, but I like children and I would have liked to have some."

I stop chewing the cheese and fixate my eyes on him. I have a strong feeling he's about to tell me something about himself that he hasn't revealed to anyone yet. That he's about to let me in and bring us one step closer to one another. Then he looks a bit startled, as if remembering where we are and that just about anyone might be listening.

"I say we have at least a dozen" he declares with fake cheer. "After all, we have a big house and we know we'll be able to feed them."

"A dozen?" I exclaim, fully aware that we are now acting again but still rather taken aback. "There's no way I'm giving birth to twelve children. Not unless I get to do it at a hospital in the Capitol, numb from the waist down."

He smiles weakly at me and I return the smile. I make a mental note to someday find out what he was really going to say.

* * *

The house they have arranged for us in Four is located by the beach, ideally suited for long romantic walks along the shoreline at sunset and other such activities. The house itself is about half the size of the houses we live in in the Victors' Village, and about one third of it consists of an enormous bedroom. It doesn't make sense to me that such a large bedroom should be romantic or erotic because the large spaces seems to remove every bit of intimacy. Whatever intimacy might survive the size of the room is swiftly killed by the floor-to-ceiling windows that covers an entire wall, giving us a perfect view of the beach but also giving anyone walking by a perfect view of us. The first thing Peeta does is draw the large, red curtains shut so that nobody can see inside the room.

"Snuggly, isn't it?" he comments, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I'm going to go have a look around" I announce.

He shrugs and walks out of the room. I take my time exploring the house, finding I approve of the sunny kitchen and the actually quite beautiful sitting room. It too has floor-to-ceiling windows and it makes the room seem very bright and uplifting. Most of the furniture is either white or made of beech wood and/or glass and there are several vases with pink orchids around the room. I can imagine sitting here in the evenings, enjoying the view of the sunset. There's no fireplace which disappoints me a little but perhaps it would get too hot for a fire anyway.

There are two large glass doors that lead out to a back patio and I can see Peeta sitting there, watching the waves rolling in. We've arrived about an hour after lunchtime and the sun is bright in the sky. I find myself looking forward to evening and seeing the setting sun. It really is a pity that all of this is wasted on a couple who are only pretending at being newlyweds. If I ever did marry for love I wouldn't mind spending a month, or a year, in a house like this.

I press a button on the left door and it slides to the side, allowing me to step outside. My nose fills with the scent of sun-warm wood, sand and a faint smell of salt water. The sun seems brighter here than back home in Twelve and reflects off the sand same as it does with snow. I have to shade my eyes with my hand as I walk up to Peeta and take a seat next to him. There's a two foot gap between the patio and the sand so my feet dangle in the air. A few feet to Peeta's right is a set of steps that leads down to the beach below. Strangely enough the first thought that pops into my head is that I must remember to wear shoes when walking out here on the patio or else I'll probably get splinters.

"Hey" I say to Peeta, taking my hand down but squinting in the bright daylight.

"Hey" he replies.

"Liking it so far?"

"See those seagulls over there?" He points to a flock of birds circling about a hundred yards from where we're sitting. "I'm fairly sure one of them is actually a drone with a camera. It's got a mechanical way of moving and it's a lot more steady than the rest of them."

"You're either very paranoid or they're really putting effort into this" I say. "Probably the latter."

"I used to always wonder how they could film every single moment during the Games, until we were in the arena ourselves. I still haven't figured it all out but…" He looks at me. "Do you think our honeymoon is going to be broadcast? Or is it just Snow wanting to keep an eye on us?"

"Maybe that depends on our performance."

"Let's how they're not broadcasting _live_."

We sit in silence for a while, watching the waves come rolling in. It's remarkably peaceful and even though I know there are cameras tracking us when we're outdoors it still feels private compared to the huge circus in the Capitol.

Eventually Peeta rises, wobbling for a second before he finds his balance on his fake leg, and walks back inside the house. I follow him and we walk into the bedroom, closing the door behind us. Now we're alone for real.

"Did you notice all the large windows in this house?" asks Peeta.

"Hard not to" I reply dryly.

"How much do you want to bet that when they agreed not to put cameras indoors they instead chose this house so they could have the cameras outside but still capturing everything we do?" He snorts and shakes his head in frustration. "This room is our only sanctuary. Well, the bathroom also counts but… Whenever we're not in here we're going to have to be pretending." He sounds so irritated at first that when his look softens and his shoulders relax it takes me by surprise. "Do you want to try and make the best of it?"

"How do you mean?"

"No reason we can't try and have a good time while we're here. For instance, how good a cook are you?"

"Not very good" I say, frowning at the question. "You ought to know. You've tasted my food."

"I had no complaints in the arena" he smiles.

"You were as good as dead."

"Then how about we try to cook stuff together? That might be fun. I saw they have some board games out in the sitting room; that might be fun too."

"I could teach you to swim" I say spontaneously. He looks skeptical but the idea appeals to me. "We could spend our days out there in the water. It might actually be fun."

"Have you seen the waves?" he questions. "I'm not going anywhere near anything like that. Didn't someone at the dinner here during the Victory Tour talk about how people get caught in the undercurrent and dragged out to sea?"

"Not if you stay close to shore" I argue, though I'm not exactly sure.

"Still, seems safer not to."

"Coward" I smirk, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Anyway… Are we agreed? That instead of playing an exhausted charade all the time we give actual fun a try?"

"Just having a good time together isn't going to be enough" I point out. He walks over to the bed and sits down and I move a bit closer. "We should talk about the sex thing."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Peeta you know as well as I do that it's not going to work like that. You were there during dinner last night. You even cracked a joke about us having a dozen kids. Might as well just… accept it."

"There's got to be some way around it" argues Peeta, running a hand through his hair. "I can figure it out. I just need time."

"We may not have time." I walk up to him and stop just about a foot from the bed. "You know as well as I do that marriage won't be enough. Not in the long run. If we don't have babies people will start to wonder why."

"Do you _want_ to have kids?" he questions, looking surprised.

"Not even a little bit. But I'm also not ready to face the consequences of not doing what is asked of us."

"Katniss…" He moves off the bed and stands right next to me, looking me deep in the eyes. "You know me. You know I can't do something like that."

"You know Snow" I reply, a slight tremble in my voice. "He won't let us get away with not having kids."

"Then I'll take full responsibility for not getting you pregnant. He can have me killed if that's what suits him. I'd prefer that to the alternative."

He walks away from me, out from the room, leaving me standing there with my mouth gaping, absolutely horrified. I knew Peeta was determined not to go through with what he perceives to be rape of me but I had no idea he would take it that far. I feel my heart pounding with fear at the thought of Snow killing him. I can't explain it to myself but I strongly feel I would rather risk sending a child into the arena than giving Peeta's life to prevent that from happening. I run to the door and call out to him just as he's about to go back outside.

"What was it all for, then?" I ask. He stops and looks at me, confused at the question. "If you're willing to die rather than to have children with me then what was the point of marrying me in the first place? Why not refuse that too and take Snow's wrath now?"

"The marriage was to buy peace, wasn't it? To save our families? I'm willing to hold out hope that by the time people will start to think it's strange that we're not expecting a baby yet they will have lost interest in us. Barring that I'm willing to take my chances that we might figure something out that can keep us from having to have children in the first place."

His hand reaches for the button that opens the door.

"You know, you can't go outside" I say. "Not without me. It will look strange if you go out alone just an hour or so after we've arrived."

"I'll bring you back some seashells or something. Something… _romantic_…"

He leaves and I sigh heavily, walking back inside the bedroom and throwing myself down on the large bed. I will not sacrifice Peeta to avoid having children. I just don't have a clue how to make him see things my way. If nothing else we need to have sex, at least once, because the doctors in the Capitol can check to see if you've lost your virginity. I heard Effie discuss it with Portia once, recalling an incident where a female tribute had accused her fellow tribute of raping her but an examination had proven she was a virgin. The story sickened me and the thought of such an examination scares me but not as much as the thought of what they might do to us, to Peeta, if we fail to fall in line.

* * *

He returns to the house after an hour and a half. By then I've left the bedroom and I'm busy searching through the kitchen to find what food they have stocked for us. To my surprise most of the cabinets are empty and the ones that aren't have things like sugar lumps and crackers. Nothing you can cook actual dinner from.

When Peeta walks into the kitchen I'm about to tell him what I've discovered but he holds out his fist to me and I look at it with confusion. He gives me a tired smile, opens his hand and I find a collection of seashells there.

"They were surprisingly hard to find" he tells me.

"Is that why you were gone an hour and a half?" I ask, hearing how much I sound like a nagging wife.

He doesn't answer. He takes my hand and gives me the seashells, then places a kiss on my jawline. He walks over to the sink and washes his hands while I stare at the shells, wondering what I'm supposed to do with them. This is considered a romantic gift? What is the purpose of the shells, exactly?

"What have you been up to?" asks Peeta.

"I've discovered that we don't have any food."

He turns the faucet off and reaches for a towel.

"What?"

"See for yourself. The cabinets are as good as empty. Nothing useful in any of them."

With a frown on his face he begins to search through the cabinets. He only opens two before deciding I must be right and he closes them with a groan.

"Great. What is this supposed to mean?"

"Do we have any fishing gear?"

"I don't even know what fishing gear looks like."

I can't make sense of this. They can't have _forgotten_ to provide food for us. There must be something else going on here but I can't figure out what. I get a weird sense that we're back in the cave in the arena and that we have to perform to earn food. I look at Peeta and wonder what it might take. If I walk up to him and kiss him, pressing my lips to his for ten seconds or more, will that earn us dinner?

A knock on the door startles us both.

"Are we expecting… company?" asks Peeta.

"I sure hope not."

"Should I get it?"

Without waiting for an answer he walks to the front door and opens it. The next thing I know a whole crew of people walk inside, carrying tablecloths and silverware and numerous plates of what I sincerely hope is food, each one covered by a kind of silver dome that I suppose is meant to keep the food warm. None of them speak and they leave again after a few minutes, once they have arranged the table for us. Peeta and I stand on opposite ends of the room, watching with amazement and confusion as the scene unfolds. Once they're gone we look at each other and then hurry to sit down at the table.

"Is this what it's going to be like every night?" he wonders, lifting the dome off a plate at random. I feel my mouth watering when I see thick slices of meatloaf swimming in gravy. "There goes the idea of cooking together, then."

"On the other hand," I say, lifting another dome to find two small bowls of an orange colored soup, "this is bound to be ten times more delicious than anything we could concoct in this kitchen."

We lift off each of the domes and survey the meal prepared for us. There's soup, salad, meatloaf, potatoes, breadsticks that seem to fascinate Peeta a great deal, steaming hot vegetables and some form of yellow pudding.

"No fish" I remark. "And this is the fishing district."

Peeta furrows his brow as if trying to remember something.

"Remember what Effie said before the wedding… That night when we had those large fish that still had their eyes and teeth and basically everything?"

"I wasn't listening. There was fish to be had."

"No, she said something about a friend of hers who hated being pregnant because she couldn't eat fish. Something about mercury levels?"

"Mercury levels?" I echo. "Peeta if they're going to plan every single meal based on the assumption that I'm _in the family way_ I'm going to lose my mind."

"Let's just eat" suggests Peeta. "There may not be fish but the stuff we've got looks delicious. Do you think it's lobster soup?"

Peeta developed a definite fondness for anything lobster during the Victory Tour. I lean over the bowls and sniff, shaking my head at him.

"Carrot."

"Right" he says. "Think lobster is bad for a fetus, too?"

* * *

The following two weeks turn out better than I had expected. The weather is good for the most part and we spend at least a few hours outside each day, with the exception of one day when the rain pours down. Peeta uses wet and moist sand to form shapes and figures, almost like small statues. On one occasion I actually do get him out into the waves. The hot sun and the setting means we're wearing little clothing and to my surprise it feels natural touching his sun-warm skin. My hands often find his broad chest and his often land around my waist. We kiss, we hug, we hold hands. It's always part of a performance and sometimes at night we lie awake and discuss what things we are going to do the following day.

One afternoon we lie down in the sand, a feet or two away from where the water is coming in because that is the only place where the sand isn't burning hot. We lie close together, hands intertwined, and I've begun to doze off when the tide begins to come in and a wave suddenly splashes over us. With a yelp I fly to my feet and back away, causing Peeta to laugh at my reaction. It's in moments like that, when we are spontaneous and honestly enjoying each other's company, that I feel we might actually have a chance at convincing even Snow that something real exists between us.

We spend a few hours every day in the bedroom, reading or napping. We spend time in the sitting room, playing games and cuddling on the couch for the benefit of the cameras that we can assume are filming us from outside. We sit together on the patio and many nights we take a walk together along the shoreline as the sun is setting over the ocean. We walk with our arms around each other's waist or shoulders, or sometimes holding hands. Sometimes I lean my cheek against Peeta's shoulder, which is really uncomfortable when he's walking but I assume it looks affectionate and romantic. We sit on the sand together once it's gotten dark, whispering together.

The whole two weeks I'm bored nearly to the point of tears and at the same time I'm careful to uphold the charade. It's exhausting and I can tell so clearly that all the feigned affection from me takes a huge toll on Peeta. He never complains but sometimes when I'm kissing him or caressing his cheek or smiling lovingly at him I can see in his eyes a glimmer of what I think is hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, it's not an act on my part. Then always follows another look when he seems to remind himself that it never will be more than an act and that look is difficult for me. There are times when I think I can feel something a lot more real for him, moments when a look from him or a touch from him invokes a warmth and pleasurable sensation deep inside of me, but those moments are rare. I don't think genuine emotion can stand a chance at surfacing when we're constantly feeling like two actors in a play.

When we finally receive word that we are to pack our bags and get ready for two weeks in District 7 it feels like a relief. We're halfway there. In another two weeks we will get to go home and we can live life for real.


	5. Chapter 5

The mentors are put on board the train before the tributes and Emalda always gets a moment with them before we are allowed to see them. The idea is that the escort should have the opportunity to explain some basic details to the tributes, and preferably make them feel a bit more at ease. Effie at least tried to do the latter. Emalda never even bothers.

The moment Peeta, Haymitch and I are allowed into the cart where Tommy and Sally are sitting Tommy flies to his feet.

"Uncle Peeta!" he exclaims. "Aunt Katniss."

He runs straight to Peeta's arms and Peeta holds him close for a long moment. I can see Tommy fighting not to break down and cry. Peeta looks composed but I can tell he's more rattled than he wants our nephew to know. There's a part of me that cannot bear to fault Tommy for running to his uncle's embrace while another part of me knows he needs to be tougher than this and never show this kind of weakness, even in front of his fellow district tribute. I can't even imagine how difficult it will be to separate my feelings for him as an aunt from my role as mentor. Caring about your tributes is not necessarily an advantage, as far too many victors have found out when their offspring have entered the arena.

"Help me" says Tommy in a low, slightly desperate voice when he pulls back from Peeta and turns to me.

I pull him into my arms and place a hand on the back of his neck, feeling his curly hair graze my fingers.

"You can do this" I whisper in his ear. "We have faith in you."

Reluctantly I pull back from the embrace, resisting the temptation to gently rub his cheek with my thumb the way I used to do when he was little and scraped his knees. Haymitch nods at Tommy, then walks over to the bar. Tommy looks unsure for a moment and then slowly begins to walk back to the armchair he was sitting in before. Sally is still in her chair, her feet pulled up and her arms wrapped around her knees. She's looking out the window with a face that's trying to be stoic. I all but ignore her as I take a seat opposite the two of them, Peeta sitting down to my right. If Sally doesn't want to talk to us right now I'm not going to force it. I've mentored enough frightened children to know that some don't want to open up right away. Some never do.

"So what happens now?" asks Tommy in a defeated tone.

"In two days we reach the Capitol" answers Peeta. "Once we arrive you'll be prepped for the Tributes' Parade. After that follows four days of intense training, your interviews and then…"

"And then the arena" finishes Haymitch.

Tommy looks down on his hands, his fingers nervously fiddling with a loose thread on the armrest. I haven't got the first idea what to say so I keep quiet. I _should_ know what to say since I've been a tribute myself and I've mentored for over a decade and a half but this never gets any easier and this year is harder than ever before. Peeta, normally so good with words, sits quiet also. Haymitch downs his drink, sets the tumbler down on the counter top with a bang and then leaves. Tommy looks up as he exits.

"Do we have to stay in here?" he asks.

"No" answers Peeta. "You can go to your own compartment. Emalda will summon you when it's time for dinner."

Tommy nods and rises from his seat, giving us a quick glance. Peeta and I get up and follow him. We walk down a long corridor towards the compartment reserved for the male tribute. It's not the same one Peeta once had; this train is only six years old. When the door to Tommy's compartment closes behind us he walks straight into my arms and I let him cry against my neck. Peeta stands silently beside us, rubbing Tommy's back gently. There really is nothing to say.

* * *

We stay with Tommy until Emalda summons us for dinner. We take ten minutes to go back to our own compartments and change into something other than we wore during the Reaping. When we are alone Peeta wraps his arms around me from behind and buries his face at the nape of my neck.

"If he dies…"

"He's not dead yet" I say sharply.

"I know, but if he dies…"

"We can't think like that." I turn around in his embrace, wrapping my arms around him, and we hold each other close for a long moment. "All we can do is to do our jobs as mentors and do it better than we ever have before. That, and trust that Tommy can pull this off. He is a Mellark, after all."

"Yeah but I won thanks to _you_" retorts Peeta. "On my own I would have died before the final eight."

"You don't know that."

"Everybody knows that. Including Tommy."

He pulls back, kisses my brow and walks over to the closet to get changed. I hurriedly remove my own clothes, letting them lie on the floor for a servant to pick up later, and change into something less gaudy and more comfortable. Hand in hand we then leave our compartment.

When we walk inside the dining cart Haymitch is slouched in his chair, twirling expensive liquor in a crystal tumbler, ignoring the food set out in front of him. Emalda is eating as if she's at a fine restaurant, paying no heed to the children at the table. I watch her pick up the expensive linen napkin and dab her mouth. Her bright yellow lipstick leaves no mark on the white fabric.

Sally pays no attention to us either, eating her dinner in silence. Tommy looks up when we walk in and I almost have to look away. I wish I didn't have to see the sadness and fear in his eyes and even more than that I wish I didn't have to see that look that means he places his hope in Peeta and me. We know we can't guarantee him a victory and I can't bear to be held responsible if he dies.

We sit down to eat and Peeta attempts some small talk. After less than a minute he's interrupted by Tommy who nods at Emalda.

"Why is she here?"

"Your escort?" I ask, confused at the question.

"Why is she here?" repeats Tommy, spearing a tomato with his fork. "She drew our names from the reaping balls, condemned us to death and got us on board the train. What further purpose does she serve?"

"I am your escort" says Emalda, deeply offended at the insinuation that she doesn't have a purpose anymore. I roll my eyes since I thought she hated her role in the Games. "I will be making sure you arrive on time for all your activities. I will prepare you for your interviews. I will-"

"Yes but right now, what is your purpose?" questions Tommy. "Aren't you supposed to help us somehow?"

"Tommy…" says Peeta. "Look, the first evening is always the worst. It's just as well you take it easy tonight and we don't get into any specifics and that she doesn't begin to prepare you just yet. Chances are you won't remember much of what we tell you today anyway."

"But it's not_ fair_!" exclaims Tommy. "She doomed us today and she gets to sit there and enjoy her food and not even acknowledge us."

"It's not that easy, Tommy" I say.

"I'm scared, Aunt Niss!" says Tommy, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'm frightened out of my mind and that statue over there just… just _sits_ there and eats her dinner and could care less."

"Shut up!" yells Sally, slamming her hand down on the table which makes Emalda jump two feet in the air. It's the first time she's spoken since we boarded the train and it takes us all by surprise. "Just shut up, okay? You don't get to cry! You don't get to be scared! You don't get to say _anything_ is unfair!"

"Calm yourself" says Haymitch. His tone is placid but there's definitely a warning undertone.

"You at least have a chance!" cries Sally, flying to her feet, her eyes locked on Tommy. "All of my chances died when they drew your name and you _know it_. Stop acting like you're the unfortunate one. District Twelve's three mentors are your aunt and uncle and a useless _drunk_!"

"That's enough" says Haymitch, sharply now.

"They're not going to help me live" continues Sally, gesturing to Peeta and me. "All I have to hope for is that the drunkard takes pity on me but I doubt he would put in any effort either. They're all probably thick as thieves anyway and he will choose you too. I'm going into the arena same as you and I don't even have someone on my side who _wants_ me to live. I'm going to be sacrificed! Because of _you_." She's screaming by now, tears falling down her face. "You remember that the next time you feel _sorry_ for yourself."

Peeta, Emalda and I all look down at our plates as she storms out of the room but Tommy leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly seeming determined. While us mentors and the escort all seem to feel varying degrees of shame, knowing that she had a point, Tommy doesn't appear to be moved in the slightest.

"To hell with her" he says.

"Tommy" says Peeta in a mildly chastising tone.

"To hell with her. She doesn't get to make me feel guilty. If it were her aunt and uncle mentoring she'd take full advantage of it." He grabs his knife and fork and starts to eat again. "I am not going to apologize to her just because my aunt and uncle are our mentors. Aunt Katniss, would you pass me the salt?"

"This is going to be an interesting year" mutters Haymitch under his breath.

"That's one way of putting it" mutters Peeta in response. He picks up his fork and half-heartedly begins to pick at his casserole.

I stare at my own food, for once not feeling hungry. Someone ordered chicken, rice and a thick, creamy sauce for me but none of it looks appealing. The only one who seems to have an appetite right now is Tommy but I have to wonder how much of his behavior right now is attempted bravado.

I've come to understand over the years that Peeta and I were unusual even when we first arrived in the Capitol. Despite my lack of trust in him, the tension that occasionally filled the room and the few arguments we had we still got along fairly well. Maybe it was because we already knew each other from school, or maybe because he had a crush on me and I hadn't been entirely indifferent to him either. Whatever it was, it was different that year from what the norm is between two tributes from the same district. For the most part we got along and there were even some almost nice moments around the dinner table. Most years the tributes barely speak to one another and the tension is palpable when they're in the same room together. There tends to be arguing, hostility and a palpable sense that they are competitors, enemies. Sometimes the tributes do get along. Usually if one is seventeen or eighteen and the other twelve or thirteen. The older tends to be protective of the younger. I chalk it up to both of them knowing that the younger doesn't stand a chance. There was also one memorable pair, the tributes for the 77th Games. Effie caught them having sex which caused a huge turmoil that Haymitch enjoyed immensely and almost sent Effie to a "recuperation facility" – the reclusive luxury hotels where Capitol citizens go when they feel the need to calm their nerves. The tributes in question thought they could repeat Peeta's and my success by being the new star-crossed lovers, failing to understand that such a thing only works once and that Peeta and I never took the gambit as far as the bedroom. In the end, neither of those tributes made it past the first four days.

This year there will be no such incidents. Sally and Tommy aren't likely to spare three words to one another based on the experience so far. I can't say that I blame them. I tried my best to not form any form of bond with Peeta during our training and even though I failed I still secretly encourage my own tributes to have that mindset. Peeta's and my double-victory is a one in a million win and will never be repeated. Forming an alliance with your fellow tribute can help you during the first part of the Games but it's going to end up hurting you when you have to turn on one another. That's just the way it is. Tommy and Sally are better off not caring about each other during training.

Emalda finishes her dinner and quietly leaves the room. No doubt to go cry her eyes out at being labelled pointless. Once she is gone and it's just the four of us left Haymitch studies Tommy intently, still swirling the liquor around in its tumbler.

"I've known you since you were a kid, boy" he says. "Well, _known_ might be a strong word. But you get what I mean."

Peeta rolls his eyes. Haymitch has been around our nieces and nephews but he hasn't spent enough time with them to form any real relationship with any of them. To him they've just been annoying rugrats that have taken up too much space and been too loud sometimes when he's come over to our house in search of food, drink or companionship.

"Did you even know which one of us was Tommy before today?" replies Tommy with newfound cheekiness.

"Who cares?" asks Haymitch with a shrug. He sets the tumbler down and leans forward, taking a bite from his food. "It will be interesting to see if you have any of your uncle's guile. If you do, you might just stand a chance. Word of advice, though. Try not to piss too many people off. I told your sullen aunt eighteen years ago and I'm telling you now – the way to win sponsors is to make people like you."

"I can do that" says Tommy but he sounds hesitant.

"Oh I'm sure you can" says Haymitch, shoveling a forkful of risotto in his mouth. "If you have any of that Mellark charm in you. If not then we need to put a lot of work into your personality."

Tommy's façade visibly falls. He sets his cutlery down and stares at his plate for a second, clearly distraught. He's always been a kind person, not quite on the same level as Peeta but nice enough that his comments about Sally moments ago really surprised me. Haymitch calling him out on that behavior seems to have really gotten to him. I want to walk over to him and hold him, to comfort him. He's had such a monumental shock today and he knows he might be dead soon; being told he's an unappealing person by one of his mentors is not something he needs right now. But Peeta's hand on my thigh steadies me and makes me stay in my seat. It's time for Tommy to come out of his shock and Peeta and I can't baby him the entire upcoming week.

"I'm done with dinner" announces Tommy. He gets up and leaves, half his plate still untouched.

"He doesn't take after either one of you in that regard" comments Haymitch, nodding at the plate. "The pair of you ate like horses no matter what state you were in." He leans back and wipes his face with his napkin. "This year will definitely be interesting."

* * *

That was another short chapter - sorry. They'll get longer, I promise =)


	6. Chapter 6

The second leg of the honeymoon takes place in a much more secluded setting. A small cottage in a peaceful glade in District 7. Or at least that what it will look like on camera. If you walk for more than two minutes through the woods in either direction you'll end up in a populated area or large areas where they are felling trees for the lumber industry. For the duration of our stay here all felling has been moved to a different section of the district. The sounds of axes and falling trees are not deemed suitable for a romantic honeymoon by Capitol standards.

The cottage itself is small and admittedly cozy. On the outside it appears to be made from tree logs but that is merely an illusion to make it look rustic. It's actually made from brick, which you notice once you step inside because they didn't bother to cover up the brick walls with wallpaper. It has four rooms – kitchen, bedroom, sitting room and a small dining room. It's less than half the size of the beach house and much less luminous but I still like it. I especially like the fireplace and the bearskin rug, though as Peeta points out, it's not likely to get all that cold in late March.

It will be a lot easier staying indoors here. The windows are much smaller and we can cover them with curtains to keep the cameras out. It makes the house dark but it allows us to relax. When Peeta moves to close the curtains he gives a wink to whatever camera is filming us outside, selling the idea that we're closing them so we can spend our time trying to make that baby everyone is clamoring for. Once the curtains are all closed he flops down on the couch and looks bored.

While he stretches out on the couch I walk inside the kitchen to check if we can actually cook something for ourselves this time around. It only takes a look at the room to determine that this won't be the case. They haven't even bothered to include a stove. Unless they mean for us to cook over the fireplace, which I don't see that much of a problem with to be honest, they will supply food for us. Probably food that has been meticulously prepared to be as nutritious and healthy as can be for the non-existing fetus.

"Look at these woods, Peeta" I sigh as I walk back out to him. "If we weren't surrounded by civilization I could go hunting."

"No you couldn't" he says flatly. "They would never provide you with a bow. They mean for you to stay here, in bed, like a good little wife. Not go gallivanting in the woods by your lonesome."

"How do people _stomach_ this?" I ask, sitting down on the bearskin rug. "I get the idea of going away for a few days when you've just married but a full _month_? Meant to be spent mostly in _bed_?"

He laughs shortly, with little happiness, shifting his right leg to cross it over his prosthetic left.

"Newlyweds tend to be insatiable" he says, and I find myself wondering how he knows that. "If I was getting married for real I wouldn't mind a month-long getaway where we never had to get out of bed."

"You'd get bored after three days" I snort, trying to ignore the strange sting in my heart when he differentiates this union from a real marriage. Love or no love, I'd rather acknowledge the validity of our marriage than live my whole life in a complete sham.

"I assure you, I wouldn't." Before I can figure out what that really means he gets up from his seat. "This, however, is boring as all hell. This place doesn't even have any games and the only books are on riveting topics such as the history of lumber."

"Guess we're not meant to be playing board games or reading books…"

He sighs heavily and kneels by the fireplace. I watch silently as he lights a fire, unable to shake the thought of a ritual we haven't performed. There was no toasting at the wedding. We mentioned that particular tradition to Effie but she just wrinkled her nose at us. Maybe it's just as well.

* * *

The fourteen days in District 7 are close to unbearable. I have never been so bored in all my life. We hardly ever go outside, wanting to avoid the cameras, but there's not much to do indoors if you're not going to work on that honeymoon baby. Peeta reads every one of the books, often nearly drowsing off from lack of interest of their subject matter. The only book he finds interesting is one that deals with the different qualities of bark and leaves, which seems to interest him on a painter's level. He doodles on the margins of the pages, in lack of clean paper to draw on. For my own part I spend most of my time writing letters to Prim, Gale and my mother. They expect us to write to our loved ones and tell them all about what a wonderful time we're having, though one might wonder where we find the time to stop and write all of this if we're so busy having the time of our lives.

My letters are a mixture between truth and fiction. I have no doubt that someone from the government will read them before they reach their destinations. I can only hope that those I write to know me well enough to be able to tell what is reality and what is part of the play of the star-crossed lovers. I write about what the beach house looked like and how cozy the cottage in the woods is. I write about funny things Peeta has said or done, often exaggerating them a bit. To my mother and sister I write about romantic walks along the beach and I let the fact that it's my immediate family I'm addressing be my cover for not saying anything about passionate kisses or bedroom bliss. I try to mention Peeta as little as possible in my letters to Gale, though it's impossible not to talk about your husband when you're selling the story of your wondrous honeymoon.

Writing has never been my strong suit so this takes up most of my time. I spend hours trying to figure out how to phrase things and which words to use to describe this or that. Occasionally I ask Peeta for help and he comes with a suggestion. He never writers to his own family. In the end my letters don't seem to have been written by me at all. I don't recognize myself in the way I describe things and the stories I tell. Maybe that's just as well.

With each passing day I feel more and more distant from Peeta. Being forced together in a small house this way, having nothing to do but supposedly have sex, takes a toll on us. We start getting on each other's nerves and I can almost feel him pulling away from me more and more each day. Every night he sleeps with his back turned to me, like he's trying to create some amount of privacy for himself. It hurts me that he seems to want to be away from me. I miss our friendship.

One night I reach out my hand and almost let it land on his shoulder to try and get him to turn around and look at me. I want to sleep in his arms, want him to chase away the nightmares. On the nights when I do wake up from a nightmare he comforts me but he doesn't hold me close the way I want and need him to do. It's almost impersonal, the way he soothes me, and it makes me feel empty and lonely inside. Instead of resting my hand on his shoulder I let it fall on the pillow beside him, the tips of my fingers just barely grazing his hair.

* * *

The honeymoon trip naturally ends with a big party in the Capitol. We are both exhausted and want nothing more than to return home where we can stop pretending every time we set foot outside where someone can see us but nobody ever cares what we actually want. We might as well accept that whenever we leave our home district we're just exhibitions in a large live museum.

So we put our game faces on and do what we do so well by now. Smile to the crowds, cling to one another, act like the happiest couple there ever was. It surprises me that nobody can tell that we're faking because I cannot believe we are being believable in the slightest but people seem to eat it all up. I feel like I have to work harder now to maintain the charade because it feels like Peeta is slipping. Almost like he doesn't care as much anymore what happens if the lie is discovered.

The easiest part of the evening is when we're slow dancing together. When my cheek rests against Peeta's and we don't have to look each other in the eye it's somehow easier to maintain the lie. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his shoulder, grieving the loss of the days when his embrace meant stability and comfort and security. His body is still warm against mine, his arms welcoming, but I know it's not the same anymore. Snow has managed to take away what good we had between us.

By the end of the evening everybody toasts to our good fortune and, of course, to the gross of children we'll be having. It seems like people want little more from me from now on than to have a baby once a year. I can't wait until Peeta and I have become old news and they have moved on to the next new fad. Maybe then people won't care about the star-crossed lovers anymore and we can find some real normalcy.

I clink my champagne flute to Peeta's and, in a rehearsed move, we drink from each other's flute. Both flutes are actually filled with non-alcoholic cider but nobody knows that. The small trick seems to make the guests wild with enthusiasm and when we top it off with a kiss the crowd is practically ecstatic. Peeta sets his flute down on a nearby table, wraps his arm around my waist, pulls me close and smiles at the people around us.

"My wife and I would like to thank you all for this honor" he says. "It's been a lovely evening but I think we shall retire now. We have an early train to catch tomorrow."

People nod and wink all around us, clearly not buying the early train excuse. I don't care. Let them think we're heading to our room to have wild sex all night long. If they knew that we don't even sleep in each other's arms anymore they probably wouldn't believe it anyway.

We retire from the party and head to the hotel room that awaits us. The moment the door closes behind us Peeta lets out a groan and leans back against the thick mahogany that keeps the world out… or keeps us locked in, if you choose to look at it that way.

"I never thought I'd say this" he says. "But I actually look forward to the Hunger Games. How pathetic, not to mention selfish, is that?"

I nod, understanding perfectly. When the Quell begins, two months from now, all focus will shift from us to the new tributes. This time around the change in rules for the Quell is that the pool of possible tributes has changed. To remind us that both young and old participated in the rebellion – and were defeated – the pool this year consists only of those aged eleven and nineteen. The horror of Reaping coming a year early for some families and the feeling of safety at having turned nineteen being taken away from others. It's cruel beyond words. No eleven year-old stands a chance at winning. The youngest ever winner was Finnick Odair at age fourteen. And the nineteen year-olds, they should be immune now. That is the deal. Once you've survived the Reaping when you're eighteen you've done your part and you get to keep your life. Peeta's brother Ryean is among those who should have been safe this year but instead has to endure another reaping, this time with a considerably smaller pool of contenders.

In the Capitol, of course, the rule-change is heavily criticized for another reason. They call it unfair that the children between ages twelve and eighteen get a freebee year and that the eighteen year-olds especially get off too easy. Neither Peeta nor I can play along when they talk about how those children get an unfair immunity this year, as if they don't deserve to feel safe yet. Whenever somebody brings it up to us we just glare at them and that tends to make them drop the subject.

I haven't given much thought to the Quell in the past seven weeks. When the announcement was held and criticism started coming in they pushed forward our wedding plans so to distract the grumpy, spoiled Capitol people and Peeta and I were wed three weeks after the announcement. My mind has been busy with so many other things that I've allowed myself to forget that in a few months' time I'm going to be a mentor. Possibly to an eleven year-old. Possibly to _two_ eleven year-olds. Each person of eligible age gets one slip in the reaping ball so the youngest don't have the same minor advantage of fewer slips that the twelve year-olds normally do. There's also a part of me that wonders if Peeta's brother will be safe on account of the high improbability of two boys from the same family being reaped consecutive years, or if Snow and his goons will be unable to resist the drama and make sure that Ryean's name is on the slip of paper Effie draws.

I look at Peeta and want so badly to walk into his arms and let him hold me and chase away my fears and horrors. By the looks of it he's not going to allow me that. He looks tired and moody and not much like the kind, gentle boy I've come to know before the wedding. I don't understand his change in behavior lately. During the Victory Tour we were getting along and afterward a real friendship began to form between us but it feels like that has been nullified by the marriage.

"One more performance tomorrow…" he says, loosening the tie around his neck before letting his jacket fall off his shoulders. "Then most likely another one when we reach Twelve and come home to our house together." He walks over to the bed and takes a seat, leaning forward to undo the laces on his shoes. "Effie gave me a list of Capitol wedding traditions a few days before the wedding and not so subtly hinted that I should try and spontaneously incorporate as many of them as possible."

"She gave me one, too" I say. We've only done two or three things from the list of about a dozen items, ignoring countless trite traditions related to the wedding day itself, but there's one tradition we haven't gotten to yet. "You're thinking about the bride being carried over the threshold to the new house?"

"Yeah." He finishes untying his shoelaces and kicks off his right shoe. He glances up at me. "You know where that tradition originates?"

"No."

He laughs joylessly.

"It symbolizes the groom carrying the bride to bed so that she can't escape the wedding night."

I don't know if I'm more embarrassed by the meaning or horrified by the implication. Either way my cheeks turn red and I look away.

"Oh."

"Yeah." He kicks the shoe off his prosthetic foot. "Needless to say I'm going to ignore that tradition as well. It's sick."

"I thought they just carried her over the threshold" I say, trying to wrap my mind around it. "Not all the way to the bedroom."

"Maybe they used to carry her all the way there" shrugs Peeta.

I walk over and sit down next to him, baffled over all these strange wedding customs. In Twelve all you do is sign some documents, go to your assigned house, toast some bread and have people sing the wedding song for you. Why the need for so many elaborate, stilted traditions in the Capitol? They have traditions regarding who dances with what person in which order, what type of food is served as an entrée, specific points during the reception where the newlyweds are expected to kiss. It's all so needlessly complicated.

I share a look with Peeta. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I burst out laughing.

"What?" he asks. "What's funny?"

"What _isn't_ funny?" I answer. "This is so absurd! All of it! Effie almost fainted from dishonor because we didn't kiss after every one of those forty-five-or-so speeches given in our honor. A choir of chubby children sang a stilted love song while we were putting rings on each-other's fingers. They gave me this elaborate bouquet of flowers and then expected me to just throw it into the crowds after a few hours. Whatever happened to just declaring that you want to spend your life together, signing some legal papers, having a toasting and letting that be it? Why the need for all this… circus drama?"

He laughs a little too and shakes his head.

"At least it reminds us that it's all just a show."

That stops my laughter and I feel very depressed all of a sudden. I reach out my hand and place it on top of his, and he doesn't pull his hand away. I can feel the cool metal of his new wedding band against my fingers.

"We were friends before they rushed us off to the Capitol and the world's fastest organized big shindig of a wedding" I say. "What happened, Peeta?"

"We're still friends."

"Are we?"

He looks down at the shoes he kicked aside a few minutes ago. His shoulders slouch a bit and I feel an urge to wrap my arm over them. I just don't know if it's okay for me to touch him anymore.

"It will be better when we get back home" he says after a moment of silence. "I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk."

"You're not being a jerk."

"It's just… I'm already sick of pretending. And this is going to go on for the rest of our lives."

"Not _all_ of our lives" I argue. "Not when we're home in Twelve. We can be ourselves when we're home."

"Ourselves… Meaning two people in a loveless marriage." He looks up at me. "I'm sorry. That was unfair. I know you suggested this to save us both and those we care about. It was a good suggestion. I just wish… You know…"

"Yeah."

"You're right, though. I haven't been a good friend lately." He smiles faintly at me. "Give me a second chance?"

I return the smile.

"Sure thing."

* * *

We're not taken back to Twelve by train the next morning, as we expected. Instead they take us there by hovercraft, though we land outside of the district where a train is waiting to take us the final ten or so miles. I'm not sure what the purpose of all this is but I can't bother questioning it.

Once we arrive are large crowd is cheering for us, much the same as when we returned from the Games. A large feast – by Twelve standards – was held in connotation to our wedding so perhaps that is why everyone is so excited. We wave at the crowds, we kiss, we play the happy newlyweds. I look for Gale in the crowd but I can't find him anywhere, which doesn't surprise me. My mother and sister and Peeta's parents and brothers all greet us and give us more or less stilted hugs in front of the cameras. Mr. Mellark shakes my hand and welcomes me to the family and my mother lies and tells Peeta she's always wanted a son. They were instructed to deliver these lines at the reception dinner but for various reasons the people arranging the event couldn't fit it into the schedule. Peeta and I smile and pretend like we're genuinely touched. It's a little bit easier to pretend now that we know that we're almost home, almost free.

When we arrive inside our new home, or actually Peeta's victor house, Haymitch awaits us with a new surprise. I can tell by the way he's acting that he's putting on a performance as well which makes me unsettled.

"There you are, finally!" he announces, pulling us both into a giant bear hug that is so unlike Haymitch it almost makes me break character. "Are you excited for the final step in becoming husband and wife?"

An ice-cold chill runs through me. Do they know we haven't consummated the marriage yet? Are we expected to do so right here, right now? With onlookers and a camera? Onlookers that include our families. Or will they all be standing outside our bedroom door, listening in? All blood must have left my face because I can see the camera crew angling their cameras at Haymitch and Peeta alone.

"Yeah" says Peeta, looking stunned as well but better than I am at continuing the performance. "Of course we are."

"Great" says Haymitch and gives Peeta a hearty slap between the shoulder blades. "Let's get to it, then."

He leads the way into the sitting room and gestures for us to sit down by the fireplace. Suddenly I feel more relaxed. I sink down on my knees, trying to ignore the large crowd gathered in our house. They want us to have a toasting. It's almost touching that they would think to include an obscure District 12 tradition and I have to think it's Effie's doing. The large crowd, the cameras and the fact that it's broad daylight takes a lot away from what I've always imagined to be a quiet, intimate ritual taking place at a time of day when the fire actually lights up the room. All the same, perhaps it's just as well that it feels staged and fabricated.

We need no instructions as to what to do. While the crowd falls silent Peeta and I start a fire together. To my relief we work as a perfect team, making us appear fully synchronized with one another. Someone hands us a loaf of bread and together we toast it in the fire and then spread some butter and jam on it before feeding it to one another. We end with a soft kiss that elicits an "aww" from the crowd watching us. When we break apart Peeta is smiling widely at me but it doesn't reach his eyes. The crowd applauds and I turn my face away, letting my burning red cheeks seem like bashful blushing and not the awkward embarrassment I'm feeling.

Afterward people begin to clear out, most of them coming with remarks on how we need our privacy and how everyone knows that newlyweds have a lot to do. I'm so tired of all of that, I could scream. The very second they are all outside Peeta closes the door and locks it shut, causing a fit of laughter from those outside who overhear him locking up.

"It's over" exhales Peeta. "We did it. We made it." He gives me a look. "They even gave us a toasting. You okay with that?"

"Yeah" I shrug. "We're married either way, right? Might as well make it feel as real as possible."

"Right." He walks to the kitchen and I follow, not sure what else to do. "You probably want to go out hunting, right?" he says. "I hope you don't mind postponing it a day. I think that today we ought to stay inside and make it seem like we're insatiable newlyweds. There's a lot to do here today anyway. Your sister told me they brought some boxes over for you."

"Oh" I say. "Right."

I had momentarily forgotten that I have personal belongings that would be transferred to this house. While we were on our honeymoon we didn't pack a single thing by ourselves. Everything they wanted us to wear or use had already been packed for us. I'm not used to having a lot of personal belongings and I haven't given any thought to how they would have to move to Peeta's house along with me.

"I think the boxes are upstairs" says Peeta, running a hand through his blonde curls absentmindedly.

"Maybe you should, uh… Maybe you should show me the bedroom. So I know where I'll sleep."

He nods and leads the way up the stairs. As I suspected his bedroom is right where mine is, or was, in the other house. He opens the door and I step inside, feeling rather nervous. He's been inside my other bedroom but I've never been inside this room before. Why does it seem more intimate for me to come to his bedroom than the other way around?

I stop at the threshold and look around the room in surprise.

"I hope you don't mind, I…" he begins, "I asked your sister to unpack some of your things and spread them around the place. To make it seem more like home to you."

I never owned a lot of things when I lived in the Seam but since I moved to the Victor's Village there are some things that I consider mine and that I've grown accustomed and a bit attached to. Peeta's house may look like mine as far as layout and basic furnishing goes but each house in the Village has its own color scheme and some personal touches to make each victor feel unique. Peeta's house has lots of yellows while mine had lots of blues. Without asking I know that the bedspread and throw pillows are from my other bedroom. Tuggs, the old worn-out teddybear I had as a child, inherited from my father and about five generations before him, sits against one of the pillows. I haven't given much thought to Tuggs since the age of eleven or so but seeing that teddybear now makes my eyes well up a bit and gives a strange feeling in my heart.

I turn and look at Peeta.

"Thank you."

"Thank Prim. She did the work. I don't know if you noticed but some of your other stuff is in the sitting room and your father's hunting jacket is in the downstairs hall by the door."

I give him a warm embrace and after a moment he returns it.

"Seriously. Thank you."

"You're very welcome. I just want you to feel at home here."

"I think I will."

* * *

That bit about the history behind carrying the bride over the threshold is actually true. Make of that what you will...

Thanks for reading!


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